


Still sticking around

by ElnaK



Series: Forged Books [5]
Category: Chuck (TV), White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Bryce Larkin really is Neal Caffrey, Canonical Character Death, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Crossover, Gen, Haunting, One actor Several characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-09-24 15:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9769103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElnaK/pseuds/ElnaK
Summary: Bryce Larkin died for the second time that night. But Bryce Larkin never was. Neal Caffrey was. And Neal Caffrey died for the second time that night.He didn't expect to still be conscious, in the New York FBI office, White Collar division, after that.And Peter Burke certainly hadn't planned to get a ghostly CI.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is so much fun...  
> And such a mess to deal with. Good thing I stopped writing before it got to that part!

Bryce Larkin died at night, in a secret facility hidden behind an official business.

For the second time.

Though the first time had been in a secret facility of the NSA, not hidden behind a front business.

Still, Bryce Larkin died at night for the second time in his life, and this time, there was no one to revive him, or who would have wanted to revive him. Bryce Larkin wasn't a particularly liked individual. Even the people who did like him, liked him better from afar. If some would cry a little for his death, none would really want him back. They thought he was too much trouble.

It was a pity, really, considering everything he had done for these people.

But Bryce Larkin was the kind of guy who never got any recognition, not until it was too late, and never enough that people would actually want him back.

Bryce Larkin was the kind of individual you liked to blame, even when it wasn't their fault if the situation was shitty to begin with. That kind of people you blamed for not being able to do miracles, when others are put on a pedestal simply because they had tried, even when they had failed.

So, that particular night, Bryce Larkin died again. And it didn't disrupt the course of the world all that much. A few tears, a quick burial, and the world was done with Bryce Larkin.

Perhaps it wasn't so strange, considering that Bryce Larkin had never existed to begin with.

But while Bryce Larkin wasn't a real person, only a creation, an identity no one had managed to crack, but who was still very fake, there was a real person who died that night. The one person who had been using the name Bryce Larkin all along. If Bryce Larkin died that night, and Bryce Larkin had never existed, it meant that Bryce Larkin hadn't died. Someone who's not real cannot be killed.

There still was a body left behind. If Bryce Larkin didn't die that night, Neal Caffrey did.

Neal Caffrey was a genius white collar criminal, who shed personas like a snake's skin - only, more frequently. He went from Nick Halden to Bryce Larkin to Gary Rydell in the blink of an eye, and a change of clothes.

He hadn't expected to be noticed by the CIA as he had gotten himself into college at Stanford, but certainly had appreciated the challenge, and before he knew it, he had become a CIA agent... or, Bryce Larkin had become a CIA agent, while Neal Caffrey continued his crimes around the world in between Bryce's missions.

He never had a minute to relax, but it didn't bother him all that much. The human life was only so long, that he had to make the better of it. Bryce allowed him to do good things and save people, even if at the cost of some lives along the way, something he didn't like very much, but he understood. Neal Caffrey, him, could only do cons and thefts and otherwise frowned-upon-by-the-law activities, which were exciting in themselves, and relatively victimless, at least in the ways that mattered, because he never went after someone who couldn't afford it – but the cons didn't do any good to his conscience.

Despite what some people might have said, Neal Caffrey had a conscience.

In fact, he had long wanted to be a cop, to defend those who couldn't, just like his father.

Then he had heard the truth about his father's heroism, and Neal hadn't felt like he should be allowed to protect anyone. Not when he was his father's son. Not when he doubted himself and his tendencies not to follow the rules.

It was easier to simply chose a “job” which actually asked for him to break the rules.

Out of nowhere, “Bryce Larkin” had offered him a chance to be doing what he was best at, and be the good guy at the same time. Bryce Larkin had allowed him to be, even if while living a lie, the man he had once dreamed of being.

About half of Neal's lives were lies, anyway. Someone with as many lives as him couldn't possibly be all that real. And if he had more than one true life, it was only because his name had been officially changed once, and he had himself unofficially, but effectively, changed it once more.

It didn't matter, though. Not now. Not anymore. Never again.

Because Bryce Larkin had died that night, and if Bryce Larkin truly had never been alive, it wasn't Neal Caffrey's case. So when Bryce Larkin had died that night, really it was Neal Caffrey who kicked the bucket. Again. Not everybody could say they had died twice in their life.

He'd complain about it being an unhealthy habit, except he was, you know, dead.

Definitely, this time.

Dead people don't complain all that much. Because they're, you know, dead. Which Neal was.

Surprisingly, or perhaps not so much with all the crazyness in his life, but still, quite a lot nonetheless, because, really, this wasn't the kind of crazy he was used to - anyway, to the point: surprisingly, Neal found he still managed to complain, even though being dead.

Which was clearly suspicious, if you asked him for his opinion. Not that anyone would ask a dead guy about his opinion on the possibility to complain after being shot to death, actually dying, at that.

Had Neal been religious, he'd still find this situation more than a little tiny bit suspicious. Because even considering he'd believe in God and the afterlife, were he religious, there'd still be the issue that the place he was at right now didn't exactly look like Heaven... or Hell for that matter. Wonder where he'd end up. He wasn't a bad guy, surely, but he wasn't a saint either...

Anyway.

The place Neal found himself in, after having died a truly disappointing death, didn't look like any kind of afterlife he'd ever heard about. In fact, it looked pretty much like the deserted offices of some company after hours. No lights on. No one. And certainly no judge to tell him where he deserved to go from now on. Just a bunch of desks, chairs, shelves, and various other furnitures.

An office. Neal, or really, Bryce, had seen a lot of strange and otherwise disturbing things in his life.

A deserted office in the middle of the night didn't even make it to the Top Twenty.

No, what bothered the newly-deceased Neal Caffrey had nothing to do with the place in itself... and more to do with the fact that he was here, after having died. Neal wasn't an expert on the subject of dying - though some people may think he did have a headstart - but he seriously thought it wasn't supposed to happen like that.

Usually, he surmised, it was more of a dead,-lights-out kind of things.

Thus his issue with the current situation was such: yes, he was dead; no, the lights weren't out.

Proof, his continued existence.

Neal heard a sound coming from the other side of the office, and turned around. The glass doors had opened to let a man enter, but the stranger hadn't yet noticed Neal. He was on the phone.

“Sorry, Honey, but I had a hunch... Yes, I know, I'll be there tomorrow evening, as I promised... No, no, just do as always... I'm sure Satchmo'll be happy to eat my meal... Me too, Elizabeth.”

The man sighed, unaware of the younger man standing in awe just a few feet ahead of him. He had a case to work on, criminals to catch, and an idea to get there. That's why he had come back to the office this late at night. Something another agent had said had rung a bell earlier, so... He knew what to look for. He wasn't sure how difficult it'd be to find it, but it was still more than before.

And, more importantly, he knew he wouldn't be able to go to sleep before he found his hidden link.

As for Neal, he was finding this situation alarmingly amusing, which didn't sit right with him at all. For some reason, it seemed, he was dead, and yes, he was certain of that, because his T-shirt still felt sticky with blood, and God, was he a ghost, now? - he was dead, and in the New York FBI office, White Collar division, with Peter Burke, the man who had caught him by luring him with Kate, a few years ago, working late hours.

Considering he was a ghost, Neal wasn't sure Burke would be able to see him or anything, but if he did... That was a whole can of worms that'd be opened, one to which he didn't have half of the answers - the ones about how the hell he was a ghost - and the other half better would be left alone - like, how had he died out of jail, when he was supposed to be in there for six more months yet?

The bright side, Neal supposed, was that even if the CIA somehow heard about it all, they wouldn't be able to kill him for what he had done, given that he was already dead. They wouldn't be able to lock him in a cobalt prison either... Or, hoped hoped they couldn't.

After all, he didn't think the CIA knew how to deal with ghosts, and yesterday he'd have said there was no way a government agency would waste time with fictional supernatural issues. But today, he knew such things weren't that fictional. For all he knew, there was a governmental agency dealing with these kinds of problems so that the population would not hear about the supernatural.

Neal sure hoped he was an invisible ghost right now.

On the other hand, he was pretty certain he'd get bored quickly, if no one could tell he was here. Neal didn't do well with loneliness. He had pulled it off as Bryce, because he knew he could always become Neal again, have his friends again, shake off the solitude if he needed. But if he was supposed to spend the rest of eternity alone, watching over what became of the world...

He wouldn't be able to.

Burke pressed a switch, and there came the light.

Moment of truth, Neal realized. Either the FBI agent ignored him, because he actually couldn't see him... or there would be a very awkward, very problematic moment when the man'd see him.

Burke turned around, grabbed a file, and otherwise ignored Neal. The ghost didn't dare move, just in case the agent had simply not noticed him, rather than not being able to see him. Moving would probably give him an answer... But Neal wasn't certain he wanted that answer. Whatever it'd be.

Burke grumbled something at the papers in his hands, something about it being obvious, that he should be able to find it if he focused on the right points...

Neal, curious, sneaked on the unsuspecting man, and looked over Peter Burke's shoulder.

It was a file about a simple insurance scam, which the FBI hadn't had much difficulty to tear apart, except on one point: they knew how it was done, who was in on it, who benefited from it... but they were lacking hard evidences. Everything in this file was circumstancial at best, and they still hoped they could pin the criminal down with no risk of her getting away at her trial.

Neal squinted at the receipts in evidence on the wall, not in the best position to read.

_“Well that's a very good job. The pizza delivering boy is on it, though. Definitely the messenger.”_

Burke started at Neal's whispers. Neal realized he had spoken aloud, or, if anything, loud enough to be heard. And, apparently, Burke had heard him.

The FBI agent turned around, a hand on his gun, and looked right at Neal.

“Caffrey?!?”

No doubts he could see Neal, then.

The ghost took a step back, unwilling to be shot at by a FBI agent. He was fairly certain it wouldn't do anything to him, but he wasn't completely sure it wouldn't at least tingle.

_“Agent Burke. Pleasure to see you again. Not exactly something I had planned, but well...”_

Peter Burke suddenly became aware that not only Neal Caffrey, convict currently, or, supposedly, in supermax, was in the FBI building of Manhattan, which definitely wasn't normal, but that, moreover, the man was not looking good.

In fact, Peter focused for a moment on the state of Caffrey's clothes, and he had to say, he wasn't used to seeing the con artist looking like that. First, because he was wearing a dark jacket, dark pants, and a grey sweatshirt, which wasn't the usual attire of Neal Caffrey, not even taking into account that lately, Caffrey's attire was supposed to be more on the orange side. Second, because said grey sweatshirt turned red on the left side. Red like blood.

“Are you wounded?”

Okay, the disbelief in the agent's voice might have made him sound a bit uncaring, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out why Neal Caffrey, out of supermax and wounded, would come to the FBI office where he worked. It simply didn't sound logical at all.

Caffrey looked down at his possible wound, acting almost as if he had forgotten about it.

_“Oh, that...”_

The younger man pulled his sweatshirt and the T-shirt underneath upwards, giving Peter an eyeful of abs the FBI agent would never have thought the conman to have... as well as a bloody bullet hole which had bleed all over his stomach.

_“...nothing we can do about it now.”_

“Are you kidding me? What are you even doing standing there?! You need to go to the hospital!”

Caffrey took a step back, but not in time that the FBI agent couldn't grab his arm and drag him downstair if needed. Or, at least, Peter tried. His hand went right through the younger man's arm, and wasn't that disturbing?

Peter Burke stared, uncertain of what to do at this point, of what to think really, at his own hand.

Then he looked up and back at Caffrey, who was giving his a sad smile.

_“As I said, nothing left to do about that. I think I'm a bit too dead for a hospital to do me any good at this point.”_

“Are you... Are you a ghost? Since when do ghosts even exists? And if you are a ghost, what in hell are you doing here of all places? No wait, more importantly, what were you doing out of jail? And who killed you? Why did they kill you? How...”

Neal took yet another step backwards, his smile slipping into nothingness.

_“Calm down a minute, FBI. I know you have that instinctive urge to investigate, but really, I can't say much, only that I got myself out of jail long ago, and that I was trying to right a wrong when I got shot. My killers have certainly already been taken care of, and if not, no one will find them now. And no, I have no idea why I am a ghost, or why here of all places.”_

Burke gave him a suspicious look, which, okay, Neal might have deserved. He wasn't the most truthful man on earth. But he really didn't see the point of lying right now, and, seriously, shouldn't the FBI agent be a bit more overwhelmed by the fact that he had a live ghost, or, you know, whatever he wanted to call it, in front of him?

“You cannot say, can you?”

Neal gave him a big, wide-eyed look of innocence.

_“Confidential.”_

“Sure.”

And, maybe, maybe Neal was just a bit relieved that the man wasn't believing him right now, even if it was the truth. CIA work was confidential... and he didn't want Burke poking around Bryce Larkin, not when it could alert the higher-ups that Bryce was very far from real. Neal had worked very hard to make Bryce believable, but the persona wouldn't hold long if they ever heard of Neal Caffrey, and noticed that strangely, he looked just like Bryce.

Sure, no one could do anything more to him, but still...

Perhaps Neal wanted to keep Bryce's years of hard work safe.

Burke sighed, and went to sit down in a chair, intellectually exhausted.

“Obviously I can't threaten you with legal consequences now... So I have to pretend I believe you.”

_“Yeah, you do that.”_

“Great... Since you're here, why don't you help me figuring these cases out?”

Neal's glance turned to a stack of waiting files, back to Peter Burke, then to the White Collar office in general. A big grin appeared on his face, he arched his eyebrows, and there was something close to delight in his eyes. The FBI agent immediately wondered why he had suggested him to help.

_“I could be your ghost consultant, Peter! I can call you Peter, can't I, Agent Burke?”_

“Absolutely not!”

The kicked puppy look Peter received for that refusal almost made him change his mind, but the FBI agent could already tell he wouldn't last with Caffrey if he didn't stand his ground from the beginning. Not that he was certain whether or not he could do that for long.

Peter's eyes flittered back to Caffrey's wound, and he cringed.

“I don't even want to think about how I going to explain why I have a bleeding ghost as a CI.”

Neal followed the agent's gaze, and winced too.

_“Perhaps... I can try to do something about it... I think.”_

“What do you...”

Peter hadn't finished his sentence that he jumped several feets away from the ghost, his heart beating an unhealthy rhythm.

Caffrey wasn't wearing his dark attire anymore, but black suit pants with white shirt and loose tie. And he was literally covered in blood, his shirt actually white and red, his hair longer and in disarray, a trail of dried blood over his left temple. He actually looked deader than before.

The ghost, having noticed Peter's fright, looked at himself in unpleased surprise.

_“That's not what I was aiming for... Sorry you had to see this. I'll just...”_

Neal focused again, and the next moment he didn't look like Bryce the first time he died, but rather like himself in the middle of a large con. Designer suit, perfect hair, smooth smile.

He knew he'd revert to a less savory appearance the moment he'd stop focusing.

But the afterlife sounded like so much fun right now, he was totally willing to do the effort.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_“I'm just saying I can go in there and get all the info you want, Peter! You just have to send me in. This is exactly my kind of job.”_

The FBI agent refrained from rolling his eyes at his insistent and ghostly CI. It didn't seem to matter that Peter had already said no, apparently, and Neal had to try and get him to change his mind. Even if there was no way in hell Peter's decision would change. This time, it just wouldn't work, and Neal had to know that.

“ _I know you somehow upped your conning skills to legendary level, to the point you don't even need the whole close quarters thing anymore, but McAvoy shakes hands to seal a deal. Do I need to remind you what happens when you touch people, Neal?”_

The CI's brilliant smile looked a bit less real, all of a sudden.

“ _I don't touch them.”_

“Exactly. You don't touch anything. You can't touch anything. You pass through things, instead. Hence why you cannot go in there to pretend you're interested in McAvoy's business. If you did you'd be immediately made as 'problematic'.”

“Problematic” was an understatement. Since what had happened a few months ago, Neal's state was a bit more than problematic. Sure, it made him completely safe no matter the situation and the number of machine guns – though Peter hadn't been pleased that one time with the machine guns; wonder why. Sure, it allowed him to walk in just any place and listen in if he wanted – Neal liked to think he had already been nearly there before, but well, nothing quite like being in this state for that. But it also made it impossible for him to touch anything, defend anyone, or even wearing a recorder.

“Problematic” wasn't the right word. Impossible was more like it.

But the White Collar division of the Manhattan FBI office had deemed the subject taboo. Everyone just pretended Neal was a normal CI, on contract – the contract was for show, but no one needed to know that. They sent him undercover, as long as there wasn't a need for physical contact. They used his insight, and he took part in the inquiries. No problem with that. He was that one well-dressed CI who snarked at other criminals. Except he wasn't officially there.

They certainly did their best to forget that Neal was dead. Yes, a ghost. From what Neal knew, he was the only dead guy in the world in this situation, and there wasn't really an explanation he could give, but the facts were he was here, and ghostly so. Mozzie was having a field day trying to figure this out without anyone learning of his little supernatural secret.

Neal guessed it was for the best, really. He didn't want to become an attraction, and there was no way in hell Hughes or anyone else in the division would say a word about their ghost CI. They didn't want to end up in a mental ward, and it was better not to try and explain that to their superiors. What could they have said anyway? You know that one criminal we caught some years ago? Well now he's working as our CI. And, just so you know, he's dead. Yeah, he's a ghost. I have no freaking idea how, boss. Sure, it stays between us.

No, it just wouldn't.

Neal was totally content being Peter's ghost partner, doubly so, at that, since he was both dead and not official. Working for the White Collar division of the FBI was fun. The agents were way more pleasant than his former colleagues at the CIA – not that he had told them that, since, you know, no one knew about his time as Bryce Larkin. The only things he really regretted was that he couldn't do the manual work himself anymore. But that came from being a ghost, not from working with Peter.

No wonder Neal was restless, though, and eager to use the skills he could actually use. Like conning people – sorry, Peter, conning criminals – into telling him their secrets.

He almost pouted.

“ _Still, I could have gotten us that info...”_

The long-suffering look Peter gave him almost had Neal petulantly insisting.

“We just have to speak to someone else. Actually, Diana found someone to whom we should talk. We're leaving in twenty minutes. Business attire for you. I don't need to tell you to gear up.”

The FBI agent didn't need to, indeed. Neal couldn't “gear up”. He was a ghost. He couldn't change clothes.

He could, on the other hand, switch appearances between the various looks of his lifetime. Granted, being able to turn back into a toddler held little to no interest, except when he needed not to look suspicious after having been made, but the ghost ability did allow him to access his whole wardrobe, from casual to in disguise to dressed up to an utter lack of clothes if needed – strangely enough, Peter didn't seem to think the last one could come in handy one day; Neal begged to differ.

They were in Peter's car – fortunately Neal wasn't passing through the car or anything as problematic, just like he could actually stand on the ground instead of sinking towards the heart of the Earth; Neal didn't fancy finding out what a magma core looked like – when he finally thought to ask where they were going.

“Our potential witness is currently attending a conference on the other side of Manhattan, which is a blessing in itself considering he lives in Los Angeles. I've called, and he agreed to see us as soon as the conference ends. Conveniently, that's the time it'll take us to get there, more or less.”

“ _Right. And that's a conference about...?”_

Peter winced a bit, and looked as if Neal was torturing him to betray his nation's secrets as he did so – Neal's Bryce persona was used to the facial expression.

“Art.”

Uh. Neal hadn't expected that. Why would Peter be so despaired by the idea of meeting someone at an art conference? It wasn't as if Neal was going to wander around and speak with about everyone because art was damn interesting and he'd have liked to be there for the lecture. There really was no risk that Neal would get that easily side-tracked. Obviously, Neal was much more interested in the potential witness account about his least-favorite mortgage fraud culprit.

Okay, now was the moment he could focus on how to get away from Peter and his uninteresting interview without the FBI agent noticing too soon.

Though Neal kept his face completely blank and innocent, Peter could tell the ghost was planning his escape to the world of art aficionados. The very fact that Neal looked innocent was a tell to anyone who knew him well enough. Neal did not look innocent, unless he wasn't. Which was pretty illogical, Peter had to admit, but it still was the truth. Whenever Neal wasn't actually plotting something, he looked mischievious, bored, or dangerously dashing. Never innocent.

Well, it wasn't as if Peter could force Neal to do anything, anyway. Dead and immaterial people were difficult to put on a leash, even when they were criminals. Peter often found himself doing damage control, lately.

Or, at least, ensuring no one would try to grab the ghost and choke him in public – which, obviously, would not go well at all, and would prob ably blow Neal's secret.

They arrived at the conference in silence. Neal looked entirely too gentle and calm not to be planning something, but Peter had to look for Nathan Hearthstone amongst the attendees of the conference. He didn't have the time or the patience to check on Neal every other second.

The FBI agent soon noticed a group of people who stood out a bit, though perhaps not as much as one could expect given their stature. Nathan Hearthstone and his entourage, private security if Peter knew anything, were apart from the main crowd, the older man in the middle, watched over by a very tall man, another tall man who was also dangerously bulky, and a blond woman who looked like both a model and a pro sportswoman in a suit.

Hearthstone looked vaguely anxious, but not quite jumpy either.

He had obviously been aware that trouble could come his way, even before Peter's phone call, because he didn't look like the kind of guy who hired private security on a daily basis. Then again, considering what the FBI knew about McAvoy, and the link between the two men, it wasn't a stretch to guess that McAvoy could try something to end the witness.

Peter wasn't much of a fan of private security, especially when these people kept him from doing his job, but he could appreciate the need for them. The police couldn't keep every potential victim safe when nothing had happened yet.

He just hoped these guys wouldn't be difficult to deal with.

The FBI agent took a moment to consider, and eventually reached for his credentials before walking to the small group, so that the private security bodyguards wouldn't try anything seeing him come forwards. Hopefully.

“Nathan Hearthstone?”

The man's eyes jumped immediately to Peter, with a certain nervousness that calmed down when he saw the FBI credentials on display. Peter took a tentative step, observing the bodyguards' reactions carefully, and stopped about one meter away from the potential witness to McAvoy's criminal deeds. While the woman and the kind-looking man seemed only understandably cautious, Peter was almost certain he saw the bulky guy refrain a growl or something like that.

Peter gave him a long, unimpressed stare for that. He had much practice in doing so, truth to be told, especially since he had started working with Neal.

“Peter Burke, FBI. I talked to you on the phone earlier.”

Hearthstone gave him a weary smile.

“Yes, I remember, thank you. You said you were working white collar crimes? Shouldn't McAvoy be taken care of by a more... violent division? He isn't exactly what you'd call a white collar criminal...”

“Oh, we aren't the only ones on the investigation, Mr Hearthstone. But just like we got Al Capone on tax evasion, the FBI is looking at McAvoy under various angles. He happens to have dealt in several white collar crimes, from the simplest mortgage frauds to ponzi schemes. And I can tell you Organized Crime will not be happy if White Collar is the one to open the road with substancial proofs, but that's their problem, not mine. As far as I am concerned, the point is to get McAvoy behind bars, not to get any glory out of it.”

This time, Bulky Man's grunt was almost appreciative, which could explain why he didn't bother disguising it. Almost being the key word here. The man didn't seem to like the FBI much.

“And these people are...?”

Hearthstone glanced at his security detail, obviously unused to their presence, and eventually shrugged at the kindest individual, as if to tell him to go on from there.

“Carmichael Industry, Agent Burke. Charles Carmichael, Sarah Walker and John Casey. Michael Carmichael is outside, watching the grounds. Mr Hearthstone contacted us as soon as he understood that his life could be in danger because of Linus McAvoy. We hope not to impede your investigation, but I still ask you to be understanding of our concern for our client's security.”

“Fair enough. Now, about McAvoy... Wait a minute, where did Neal disappear to?”

Peter looked around the unfamiliar faces of the conference attendees. He couldn't spot his personal trouble magnet of a ghost, despite Neal's fairly tall frame – sure, not as tall as Peter himself, even less when it came to Carmichael and Casey, but taller than most nonetheless – and his brightly attracting good looks that usually got everyone's attention – unless Neal wanted to fade into the background, which he also did very well, to Peter's continued surprise. The FBI agent sighed in exasperation, still unconvinced of why exactly he was putting up with Caffrey's erratic behavior – not that he actually had a choice, because he sure couldn't force a ghost out of his investigations, but Peter certainly didn't make Neal feel unwanted, and perhaps that was the problem?

Sarah Walker glanced at the crowd too, even if she couldn't know who she was looking for anyway... unless she was looking for another typical FBI guy, which would be oh-so-amusing if Peter wasn't exasperated with Neal right now. Neal was just that far from typical, and a whole world away from displaying FBI in his choice of clothes.

“Your partner?”

Oh, Peter didn't even remember what it was like to have an actual, FBI-approved partner. Sure, he worked with Jones and Diana all the time, but they were more like each other's partner, a second team within the team. Peter's partner was definitely Neal.

But Walker had meant FBI partner, Peter could tell.

“My CI. He works investigations with me, he's even terribly good at it, perhaps because he did most of the array of crimes we investigate before he... Eitherway, he must be charming some woman or another right now with talks of Botticelli and Van Gogh. I swear, he's completely impossible to keep out of trouble.”

Sarah Walker seemed to smile a bit at Peter's rant, as if remembering her particular days as a baby spy's babysitter, a few years ago. The FBI agent didn't notice, though, because he had finally caught a glimpse of what might be Neal's perfect-hairstyle-to-charm-and-con.

“ _Peter! They have a Raphael on displa...”_

Neal had just walked through the crowd, cheerfully joining his FBI friend, when his sentence stopped in the middle, slowly dying away in his throat. His smile seemed just a little bit genuine and assured, and his posture slowed down into a careful stance, several feets away from the group.

Peter, not having caught on the unease right away, simply responded:

“One you didn't steal?”

Then he noticed the nervous look in Neal's eyes. The FBI agent frowned and turned around to look at the source of his CI's anxiety, following his gaze: the Carmichael Industry group. Had Neal stolen something from these people? Had he conned them, once upon a time? It wouldn't be that surprising if it was the case, but would it really warrant such a reaction from Neal?

Nathan Hearthstone seemed just as puzzled as Peter. Carmichael, on the other hand, had gone white as a sheet of paper, and seemed unable to move. Walker looked about to bolt, but unsure as to in which objective – something between running away in denial and strangling Neal in anger. Casey...

John Casey had brought out his gun, and was already raising it to point at Neal. Which wasn't a good idea at all, because if the man fired a shot, the bullet would just pass through Neal and hit someone else, behind the ghost. Not that it'd be a good idea had Neal been material, and, you know, alive to receive the bullet in the middle of his forehead – or anywhere else, really – but Peter was mostly worried about hurting a bystander and blowing open Neal's secret right now.

The incident stayed there, though, thanks to Walker's quick reaction. The woman took half a second to collect her thoughts, and as soon as she processed her colleague's movements, she put a hand on his rising arm and forced it back down slowly.

It was Neal who hissed first, certainly not to attract attention from the crowd, but still shaken by the bulky man's reaction.

“ _Casey!!! Could you please, for once, not try to shoot me the moment you see me?!”_

That, certainly, got Peter's attention. Not only did Neal know these security guys, he also knew them on a slightly antagonistic basis if the reactions were anything to go by... and at the same time he sounded almost familiar when he spoke to them. Which, in Peter's book, didn't match. People you were familiar with did not try to shoot you on sight, most of the time.

Then again, Neal was not your usual human being, with normal acquaintances.

The bulky man holstered his gun again, to Peter's and Hearthstone's relief. He still looked like he might go for Neal's throat anytime soon, though.

“You are supposed to be dead, Larkin. Again. So excuse me if I find your continued survival, for a second time, rather alarming.”

Neal tensed a bit as he appreciated the irony of what Casey had just said. Yeah, him too, he would have assumed that if someone was standing right here, before him, as he was doing himself, it was because the person was alive. Especially when it had already happened once before.

The problem being that, this time, Neal really was dead – or Bryce Larkin, for the matter.

“ _I did die.”_

Casey sneered.

“Well it doesn't seem to have stuck this time either, does it?”

Neal grimaced, not ready to break the news to Chuck or Sarah – he didn't really care about Casey; the guy had shot him more than once, and had even been his first killer, after all.

Peter, though, intervened before things became too problematic.

“Wait a minute. Presentations, please? And what the hell is this all about? Neal, what did you do?”

Neal took a deep breath to calm himself, and let his enxiety sail away... at least, some of it.

“ _Long story short, Peter? I created the identity Bryce Larkin to get into college after a con gone wrong; I needed to lay low for a time, and I didn't know Mozzie yet, so no paranoid safehouse. Somehow, Bryce got recruited by the CIA during that time, and he got killed. Twice. The second time, it was too late to revive me, and well... It was in 2009. You know what happened from there.”_

Peter blinked a bit, unsure of what to believe. Neal seemed sincere, and he certainly looked way too serious for it to be a lie. Neal didn't do serious, or at least, not that brand of serious, unless he was saying the truth or gambling someone's life; in other words, unless he had no other choice.

So he focused on the most unlikely thing in the story – while knowing Neal did unlikely on a daily basis. Like, say, coming back as a ghost to haunt the FBI White Collar division.

“Did you just say one of your fake identities passed CIA background checks?”

It got a tug at Neal's mouth, and before Peter knew it, the conman was smiling at him, laughter in his eyes, and quite a bit of unwarranted pride lurking around there too. Trust Neal to think playing the CIA was fun business. The guy truly had no self-preservation instincts.

“ _I was bored.”_

“You were bored. So you got yourself into the CIA, and got killed twice in the process, because you were bored.”

Neal seemed to think about his answer for what, half a moment, before he looked back at the FBI agent, an obvious look on his face, to anyone who knew him well enough: the CI was baiting Peter. The agent just wasn't sure in which objective. What was certain, was that Neal sounded way too cheerful about the whole thing.

“ _I was very, very bored.”_

That seemed to get a reaction from the other people in the group – minus Nathan Hearthstone, who simply did get what was going on, the poor man. Kind Guy still looked beyond shocked and unresponsive, but Walker was now torn between utter disbelief and what looked like slight desparation, and Bulky Man all of a sudden spoke again.

“Stop this pretending, Larkin. Flippancy doesn't fit you, and even if it did, even you aren't insane enough to have tried and conned the CIA just out of boredom.”

This seemed to get to Neal, whose face stopped for a moment in seriousness, but the next instant he was grinning – somewhat more sinisterly than usual, Peter had to point out.

“ _Am I not, Casey? I'll have you know 'Bryce' is the fake one, and this is my true personality. You obviously don't know me that well, and as such there is no way you could say how 'insane' I truly am. I do things because it entertains me, Casey; what I don't do, it's because it falls against my moral code, not because it is forbidden by the law or what you'd call reckless. Infiltrating the CIA without further purpose than seeing how good a pretender I am... That was brilliant!”_

Peter's blood chilled a bit at Neal's words, and he would have been downright terrified if Neal hadn't been talking “flippantly” as John Casey would have put it. Peter had to admit he had always know Neal was reckless to a fault, always looking for a challenge, and that... That sounded like a challenge the conman could have enjoyed. Had enjoyed.

Neal's voice amost sounded sad as he talked again, to no one in particular, this time.

“ _None of you really knew me, anyway.”_

Peter, knowing Neal, could more or less tell what was going on in his CI's head. In Neal's heart, too.

Neal truly made friends, sometimes, even when playing a part. There were people who knew one of his personas, and apparently, from Neal's tone, the Carmichael Industry group was amonsgt these people; the looks Neal gave to Walker and Carmichael said enough. He cared about them, enough to be bothered by what they thought of his survival.

But they had never known Neal Caffrey.

They were his friends, but he wasn't theirs. Bryce Larkin was. Not Neal Caffrey.

And, perhaps, each time Neal put on a mask, each time he did his best to appear as someone else, he was truly looking for someone who'd be able to tell. Someone who'd see beyond the mask.

These people hadn't seen beyond Bryce Larkin, like so many before them. They had seen only what he had allowed them to see, some parts, perhaps, which were true, but also a big deal which was as made up as the name “Bryce Larkin”. They hadn't been able to see past the persona.

And, maybe, to Neal, it seemed as if they hadn't cared enough to try and see the true him.

For half a second, Neal's appearance flittered back to his bloodied, battered looks.

Finally, Charles Carmichael let out a stangled sound.

“You're really dead, then?”

Neal didn't answer right away. When he did, he sounded bitter to no end.

“ _No shit, Sherlock.”_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even without the crossover with White Collar, I've always felt no one ever really tried to understand Bryce much in Chuck's world, not even those who learned the truth about his "betrayal". I mean, let's just see how he was wiped out of the story after his death, with only Sarah speaking once about him. When didn't see one moment of distress from Chuck, after the initial shock of finding Bryce dead, did we? They guy sacrificed absolutely everything, his life, his love, his friendship, and he's just forgotten?


End file.
